


House of Horrors

by bela013



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Molag Bal is his own warning, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/pseuds/bela013
Summary: An unsuspecting Dragonborn is forced to help a Vigilante look for evidence of Daedric worship.





	House of Horrors

She didn't intend to help him. Vigilantes were all bothersome to her. The last time she tried to summon a sword near one, they followed her around and kept on trying to convince her that all types of summoning were some sort of gateway magic. As if she was going to become a daedric worshiper just because she summoned a blade a couple of times. Still, it wasn't like she could just tell the man to get stuffed and leave her alone. She tried that once. Vigilantes don’t respond well to denial.

So she follows him into the house. Past the golden door and into the stone house. As soon as she steps inside she feels an instant rush of warmth. Too much warmth. The house feels like a furnace. It’s was an alien and delightful feeling.

The vigilant must be one of the paranoid ones. There was no way that such an inviting place could house 'evil rites' like he said it was being used for. The floors were too clean. The food was fresh. Even the linens on the small bed were pristine. It felt like a home.

"Fresh food. No wood rot on the furniture. Someone's been here. Recently. But the people I asked say no one enters or leaves...." the idiot jumps away in fright, interrupting himself with his unfounded fear. He saw monsters in plain shadows. It was just the wind. "Wait. Did you hear that? I think it came this way."

She held her tongue when he told her to keep her eyes open. But couldn't keep herself from rolling her eyes at him when he told her that someone was in there with them. At least, watching him shout and demand that whoever was there to come on out, was amusing. He flayed his arms like a puppet with no strings.

"There's another door. See if you can get it open." oh yes, she was gonna open it. She was gonna open a door and walk out of this mess. He might accuse her of something, if she stuck around too long.

She wasn't ready for what happened when her hand touched the doorknob, though. All the furniture started to float in mid air. From the chairs to the bed. In fact, everything seemed to float. Cups and cheese danced in the air. Even her own hair hoovered over her shoulders. 

"Stendarr's Mercy! This isn't an ordinary Daedra. We have to get help!" Her feet were almost off of the ground when the vigilant broke the moment with his shrill voice. She opens her mouth to tell him to shut up. Shouldn't he be braver?

Something deep insides her craw its way out of her stomach. She hisses at the vigilante in disgust.

 

_ Weak. He's weak. You're strong. Crush him. _

 

A voice inside her spoke up for her, drowning the need for her own words. That imaginary voice inside her head commanded her silence.

"We're getting out of here. Now." the vigilant was next to her, tugging the the unmoving door. Some sort of raw anger pooled on her stomach. How dare he interrupt her thoughts? How dare he speak louder than the voice in her head.

 

_ No. Kill him. Crush his bones. Tear at his flesh. You will kill. You will kill, or you will die! _

 

This time, the voice is louder. It’s booming. And it makes her body vibrates, like a wound up string of a lute. The vigilant shakes too. But his limbs tremble too much for him to be feelings the same excitement she's feeling.

"I don't want to die. I can't die here!" so he was listening to the same thing that she was. She would have wondered at that if the vigilant hadn't pullet up his mace and swung at her "The Daedra has us. It's you or me!"

It was a pleasure to call up her magic, and summon a sword for each hand. She gasps in a dazed trill. The weight on the daedric blade was a comforting one. Even in their ethereal form, those sharp edges called for blood. And who'd better to offer it, than a Vigilant of Stendarr.

She cut an arc at him. She cut him like one cuts butter. Except it was blood that sprayed her, and his own entrails that spill out onto the floor. Not creamed milk. He’s alive. He’s in pain. And it’s a gorgeous sight. She breaths in, and out. The vigilant chokes on his tears and rasps at her. He begs for mercy. To end his misery. She doesn’t.

 

_ Yes _

 

The voice was back inside her head and not vibrating all over the room. Appeasing some possessive need inside her. Her voice. It spoke to her. And not to the pitiful man at her feet.

 

_ Your reward is waiting for you, mortal _

 

She hears the back door creak open, all the way down the stairs

 

_ Further down _

 

The voice is relentless. Guiding her. Prompting her on her way. Forcing her to obey.

 

_ Yes. Further _

 

The voice was almost a purr, now. The purr of a very large sabre cat. It was inside her. But it belonged to something very big. And very dangerou. She opens her hands, and the summoned blades don’t clatter to the floor. They dissipate into thin air. Their need for blood was sated. Her own need, still pulsed inside her. Pulling her to obey the will of the voice.

 

_ Into the bowels _

 

There was a nervous little laugh at that. Her own laugh. She couldn't help remembering that foolish vigilant, with his guts spilled all over the floor. She finds a way behind a bookcase. Cold wind blows at her flushed cheeks. She shivers and doesn’t stray from her path.

 

_ So close _

 

Her skin prickled with fear and excitement. All rolled into one. Was all this normal? She never reacted this way after a fight. But her blood was pumping so fast. It made her burn with fever. She tugs at the tie of her magical robes and leave them at the floor of the narrow corridor. The vigilante’s blood managed to seep through her clothes and stain the linen shirt that she wore. What sort of wonderful magic was abound this house?

 

_ You prize is waiting _

 

This couldn’t belong to her. It was to powerful for her to own it. It was powerful enough to feed her into a state of complete and utter madness. No. Not madness. It was lust. Lust for blood. Lust to find the owner of that voice and offer her naked self to them. She tugs off her shirt and small clothes. Blood smears over her breasts, and sleek dripping down her thighs. What powerful mage could do this to her?

It was only when she saw the altar that she realized how wrong she had been. How deeply over her head that she was. The vigilant had been right after all. She dragged her feet to the altar. She cried out and double over before she saw the maws of the case close on her. She screamed and leaned onto the metal teeth around her. She couldn’t escape. She didn’t want to.

 

_ Fool _

 

The voice was so loud now. It was all around the cave like chamber that she was in. Mocking her. It was daedric magic that played her. Or maybe it was her own twisted desires coming out to play. She was prostrated on her knees. And it wasn’t enough. She know it wasn’t enough. She twists inside the cage and sits on the cold metal floor. She leans onto the bars of her cage. The spikes pierce her skin as she spreads her legs for the cold eyes of the statue in the altar before her.

 

_ Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would so easily reward you? _

 

Completely supported by the metal bars and the spikes that made her bleed and hold her in place, she uses her hands to offer herself. For that was what she was doing. She wasn’t seeking a reward. She was just an offering. And that only made her blood boil in desire. Her hands spread her folds and expose her quim. She was dripping. She could feel her wetness drip down her body and onto the altar floor. 

 

_ What do you see from that little cage? _

 

She gasped for air. She had to answer. But how does one answer a daedric lord? A strong gust of cold wind washes over her. It made her whimper. There was no fear inside her. The wind caresses her body. It was like a giant hand ghosting over her exposed quim.

 

_ Speak _

 

“An altar” something long and sharp run over her nub, and she moans out her answer.

 

_ Yes. It's an altar. Men would come and sacrifice the wretched in my name. The weak would be punished by the strong. But a Daedric Lord has his enemies, and my rival Boethiah had her priest desecrate the altar. Until you came. _

 

“Does my lord want revenge?” the wind stopped. The cold invisible hand above her vanished. The claw that teased her nub with it’s sharpness was all that was left. She feared that she might have displeased Him, and that said claw would soon stop it’s teasing and cut her to shreds.

 

_ Revenge? No. I want submission. _

 

No. The claw doesn’t cut her. But the finger attached to said claw invades her in one fluid movement. She screamed at the sudden invasion. She didn’t realize how big the hand above her had been. The finger inside her was bigger than any man she had ever taken. It was long, thick, and it curved inside her, as if beckoning her screams. So scream she did.

 

_ I want the priest who did this to bend his knee and give me his soul. He comes by to perform Boethiah's insulting rites at my altar, but he's been missing. Captured and bound. Left to rot. Save him. Let him perform his rite one more time. And when he does, we will be waiting for him. _

 

There was a finality to His tone. A final order for her to obey. The bars of the cave retract. She screams louder as the spikes tear at her skin as they retract from her back. But she isn’t free. The finger inside her is relentless. Now, it did more than just crook inside her. It stretched her to her limit. It fucked her with the pace that only a hand could achieve. It was fast. It didn’t give her time to adjust to its girth.

This continued for who knows how long. To her, it felt like hours. But that couldn’t be true. It could. But she just couldn’t believe it. The pain was still there. Every time that giant finger hit the limit of her body, every time it’s sharp claw dragged inside her now tender inner walls, she screamed. Her throat was raw, but her quim wasn’t. She was more than wet. She dripped continuously onto the altar. She didn’t know what she had to do.

This was torture. A torture she offered herself to. She wanted this when she opened herself to Him. It’s with this in mind that she tries to submit to the pain. To stop fighting it. She angles her hips to the hand, and  rocks back and forth to the rhythm of the finger invading her. And soon, it stop being an invasion. She welcome it to her body. Her screams give way to her moans. It still hurts. And the pain feels delicious.

She is close to completion. So close that she starts crying. Her hands give support to her body. She is pushing her body towards the hand that mercilessly fucked her. For one small fraction of a second, she was the one fucking that massive hand. And then she boneless on the altar. She lays on the floor, her legs wide, her body spent, stretched, open. She touches herself, to feel how body responded to all of this. Her quim pulsed, empty, seeking what had filled it to the brim mere moments ago. She would have felt lost had she not looked to the mace on the altar. She had a task to complete.

She rises to her feet. Her body aches, but she smiles once she has the mace on her hands. She climbs up the tunnels to the house, picking up her discarded clothes along the way. She feels the cold breeze on her skin. Sharp claws grazing her body. She sees the vigilante on the floor, clinging to his life even as his entrails try to drop off his body. He looks at her and she smiles. She smiles and she lifts up the mace to make him an offering to her Lord.

**Author's Note:**

> This sat on my wip folder for 2 years. Now this horror is free from my mind to plague others. I had a lot of find writing this.


End file.
